I don't usually cry
by codename.penguin
Summary: Kidlock. John meets a strange little boy at the hospital.
1. I don't usually cry

**Anote**: I have suddenly become obsessed with Sherlock and John kid fiction ever since reading _starrysummernights'_ work, so I dashed this off as an experiment. John and Sherlock are about four. I took the story image off the internet.

Chapter 1- **I don't usually cry**

John opened the door a crack and peeked out with one bright blue eye; wincing again as the little dark haired boy screamed over and over at the top his lungs.

'I want Mama! I want Mama! MAMA! MAMA!'

John's small chin trembled in sympathy, and his vision blurred at the awful sound. Why didn't someone come and help the boy who sat all alone in the corridor?

Fearfully, John stuck his head out and searched all around for grown-ups; but the hospital corridor remained cold and silent except for the sobs. John was a little boy torn; as he had promised his mum faithfully to stay out of sight and not to leave the nurses' room because he wasn't suppose to be in the hospital, and she could get in trouble. He didn't mind sitting alone at her small desk, of course. He would do anything to be nearer his mum and away from his big sister, who would always run off in the middle of baby sitting without making the toast she promised. His mum had been furious when she came home from her late shift at the hospital, only to find him sitting on the cold floor, powering through a bag of stale sugar biscuits because he was so hungry.

So John could understand wanting your mama so bad that it hurt in every part of your body. It was the worse feeling in the world and his little heart beat in compassion for the distraught boy. Screwing up his courage, he decided to venture out in the empty corridor and help the stranger. He would get sick if he didn't stop screaming like that!

Course of action decided, John ducked back into the room for a moment and stuffed all his precious tin soldiers into one pocket. Then, he picked up a big roll of toilet paper in both hands and peeked out again.

The coast was clear.

With a little shiver; knowing his mama was going to be so mad, John ran across the space till he was right next to the boy.

John had the impression that the other boy was bigger than he was; even though he was laying curled up on his side with his face buried in his hands crying. He had never seen such curly, long hair on a boy though. It looked really soft. Gingerly, John reached out one hand to pat his head and with a gasp, the other boy looked up and put up his hands as if expecting a blow.

Silently they stared at each other, and John began to cry in sympathy at the misery infront of him.

'I want my mama!' the little boy wailed to him in greeting.

John sniffed and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. 'You can have some of my toilet paper; you look like a fright.'

'Okay,' the other responded as he took the whole roll and broke off a piece. 'why are you crying?'

'I don't know,' John replied as he tried to crawl up on the seat which was a bit too high for him.

'I don't usually cry, just so you know,' the dark haired stranger scowled down at him, as he reached out a hand to pull on the back of the boy's bright orange shirt. A little tugging and pulling was required before John made it up on the seat.

Companionably, John swung his little legs that hung a considerable distance off the ground, 'I use to cry all the time when mama left me at the school, but not so much now.'

John's eyes grew as big as saucers, 'Aren't you afraid you will get in trouble with the grown ups?'

'For what?'

John pointed a finger at the wad of used tissue paper that the youth had flung on to the floor.

'A maid will pick it up,' the young man said with a snort, 'that's what they do. Here, you try it.'

John nibbled on his lip as the other boy held out a piece of tissue for him. Not wanting to look like a baby, he took the paper, blew his nose and then with a great deal of trepidation dropped it on the floor. With a big smile, he looked up for the other's approval only to find that the boy had lost interest and was searching around the lonely corridor again.

'Where's your mama?' John piped up.

The boy pointed to the room that they were sitting in front of. John crawled up on his plastic seat but still had to stand on tip toe to see through the glass. There was a lady lying in the bed surrounded by a flurry of nurses, doctors and scary looking contraptions. His new acquaintance also stood up next to him and John had been right, because the boy didn't need to stand on tip toe to see through the glass.

'She's sick,' the dark haired boy said in a trembling voice; sounding like he was ready to burst into tears again given the slightest provocation.

'It's going to be alright,' John said confidently, as he took his hand.

'How do you know?' the other sniffed in disdain, but with a hopeful look as the sandy hair boy squeezed his hand comfortingly.

John pointed at one of the nurses and announced proudly, 'That's my mama! If your mum's sick, my mum will take care of her.'

The tall boy squinted at the lady which his companion had pointed out, 'that is your mother? Are you sure?'

'Yes,' John said, looking again to check.

'You must take after your father.'

'Take what?'

'You know; genetics and stuff. You don't look like your mom at all.'

'I do too look like her!' John yelled in anguish, wondering if he had made a mistake by coming over here.

'It was just an observation,' the other murmured quietly, as he sat back down, 'I wish they would let me in.'

'We is not allowed,' John said disconsolately as he stared through the glass, wanting very much to go in too. He liked to watch his mum bandage and doctor up folk. He could sit all day and look at her.

'We are...' the strange boy absently corrected him in a sober little voice.

John sat down and dutifully parroted the, 'We are'.

After a while, as they sat in their dark corner and watched everyone coming in and out of the room, John decided to introduce himself.

'I am John Watson and I can count to twenty!'

His new mate gaped at him for a moment, seeming at a lost as to how to respond to this important information.

'Pleased to meet you,' he said in a funny grown up way, 'I am called Sherlock Holmes.'

**Anote:** is this good? Should I do more? If you write kidlock, please let me know so I can take a look at it.


	2. the less fortunate

**Note**: Thanks so much for the encouraging reviews. I think I am way over my head trying to write about little children, but your positive response has spurred me on.

* * *

Chapter 2- **the less fortunate**

Sherlock was completely focused on the door of his mother's room as an orderly ran in, so he almost missed when his new acquaintance ducked behind his back.

'Problem?'

John nodded his head, as he tugged fretfully at his sleeve, 'I can't stay here. Everyone knows me. I will get in trouble. Let's go hide. I know a place.'

'I am not leaving mama!' Sherlock cried out, desperately gripping the boy's hand hard; not wanting to lose his bit of company either. Normally, Sherlock didn't like to be bothered by other children, preferring to be alone with his books and chemistry set, but he didn't want to be alone here in this dark corridor!

John's face fell, but he nodded and patted Sherlock's knee, 'S'okay.'

Relieved by this show of solidarity, Sherlock's little heart stopped beating so fast, and he hugged John around his head in a fit of uncharacteristic gratitude. For the first time, Sherlock took a better look at the other boy who had come to his rescue. Curiously, he eyed John's bright orange jersey, and rubbed the strange material of his short trousers between his fingers in fascination.

'John, why do you have a _Tyrannosaurus Rex_ on your chest?'

John squealed in sudden fright and looked down, thinking he had some horrible insect crawling on him. Quickly he pulled out his jersey in front of him, 'where is it?! Hit it off! Hit it off!'

Sherlock slowly pointed at the drawing on the boy's front, beginning to wonder if something was not quite right with his companion.

'That's Barney!' John giggled in relief.

'Who?'

'Barney,' John repeated, 'Don't you know Barney?'

'I do not.'

John looked at him in surprise; clearly wondering what planet Sherlock was from.

'Do you want to swap jerseys?' John said sympathetically. 'I have loads at home. Mum won't mind. She says we must always give to the less for-tu-nate.'

Sherlock looked down at his own neat suit of dark clothes that he always wore, even around the house. He would never dream of wearing something so bright.

'Okay,' he replied, never one to back down from something new, and he began to unbutton his front. Soon the two boys had swapped their clothing and were busy examining the effect. Sherlock craned his dark head to look at his chest, while John poked at the unfamiliar buttons with one finger. Finally, Sherlock decided that the purple dinosaur wasn't so horrible.

Again John ducked behind him with a fearful squeak, as a passing nurse briefly glanced at them in some confusion.

'Where is this hiding place?' Sherlock asked, as he obligingly helped button John up in his dark shirt and roll back the long sleeves.

The sandy haired youth pointed to a door, just down the corridor and Sherlock relented. It wasn't that far and this way he could ensure John stayed with him.

Easily, he jumped down from his seat and then held up both his hands to help John as he wiggled off the plastic chair, bottom first. With a frown of concern, he set the boy on his feet.

'How old are you? Three?'

'I am four and a three quarter!' John cried indignantly with a furrow of his little eyebrows.

'You are very short.'

'I know,' John replied mournfully as he reached up to retrieve the toilet paper, 'I am the smallest in my class.'

'You may have a calcium deficiency.'

John looked up alarmed at the awful sounding news. 'No, I don't!'

'Yes, you do. I am only four and look at me,' Sherlock nodded wisely, 'No, I am quite sure you are a deficient'.

John clasped the roll of toilet paper comfortingly to his chest, understandably distressed to find out that he was a deficient, although he wasn't quite sure what that was. John hoped it didn't hurt too much.

'Don't worry, I know what to do,' Sherlock announced confidently as he walked away, and started pulling on one of the plastic chairs. Sherlock was surprised when John took the other end and started to help, as he wasn't used to anyone assisting him with his schemes.

Together, they placed the chair in front one of the vending machines, and Sherlock athletically scrambled to stand on the seat.

'Sherlock, hurry,' John murmured; scared out of his wits that a grown up would find them, but not willing to run off and desert his new friend.

The dark haired boy shushed him as he studied the controls for a moment, before taking a square of plastic from his pocket and inserting it into a slot. John jumped back in fright, because the second Sherlock depressed one of the brightly lit knobs, the machine started to vibrate and groan loudly.

John gave another little gasp, when a carton of milk tumbled out into the dispensing tray.

'Give it here,' Sherlock commanded imperiously, and obediently John passed it up to the other boy.

Sherlock read the side of the box, 'See here. For strong bones and teeth, that means if you drink it, you will be as big as me in no time at all.'

'How did you do that?!' John asked in awe, as Sherlock opened the milk and pushed it into his hand. 'Make something else fall out!'

Sherlock's chest puffed up in pride at the look of admiration on John's face, and he reached down to give him a pat on the head. He was really starting to like this boy. John listened intently as Sherlock explained what he had done; his eyes shining with interest as he slurped up his milk. Soon another carton of milk fell out, this time a chocolate flavour one!

'Do it again! Do it again!' John cheered appreciatively, quite forgetting himself in his excitement. This time when Sherlock depressed the big plastic knob, a Cola drink tumbled out.

As Sherlock jumped down and scooped up his prize from the tray, John was completely convinced that he was the cleverest boy in England.

'To your health,' Sherlock said in a sober grown up voice, that made the little boy want to laugh.

John stared at the bright red can in delight, when the other boy popped it open with an exciting fizz sound. His mom didn't let him and his sister have those at all, not that it ever stopped Harriet from sneaking one from the pantry and taunting him with it.

'Can I have some?' John asked excitedly, eyeing the forbidden drink.

'No, drink your milk,' Sherlock said curtly as he leisurely sipped his sweet drink, smacking his lips appreciatively.

The two boys held each others hands, and trotted down the hall to the safety of the nurses' office.

* * *

**Note:** Story prompts are welcome!


	3. tin soldiers and conspiracy theories

**Anote:** Mycroft and company will be showing up soon. I just have to figure out how serious I want to make Mrs. Holmes' illness first.

Chapter 3- **tin soldiers and conspiracy ****theories**

Nurse Watson hurried along the corridor, finally able to steal a moment away from her duties.

Politely she nodded at her colleagues; smiling on the outside while worry gnawed at her from the inside. None of her friends would report her, of course. They had all at some point, kept their children at the office. She wasn't worried about that but she was concerned, because there was a very annoyed social worker combing the halls, searching for Mrs. Holmes' four year old, who had slithered away from her appointed care.

With a sense of relief, Nurse Watson reached the staff room and tapped gently on the door, so she wouldn't startle her sweetheart. Just picturing John's crooked little smile was already making her feel calmer. To avoid any awkward questions, she would take her son out for a hot chocolate until the social worker left the building. Her ray of perpetual sunshine deserved a nice treat for being so good.

The poor woman gasped when she opened the door to a scene of complete destruction.

'John!' she shouted in shock, as she spied her boy in the middle of an explosion of paper planes, long strings of paper clip chains and several meters of toilet paper, artistically draped across the chairs and cabinets.

In response, her son looked up from where he was diligently arranging his soldiers in a neat line.

'Mama!' he cried with a big toothy smile, as he eagerly raised both arms; a greeting which never failed to make her heart swell and wish she could keep him frozen at this age forever. However, today she was unmoved.

'John Hamish Watson!' she said thunderously as she stood over him with her hands on her hips, 'what is this? You have been very bad.'

In reply, the boy lifted his hands higher; his little soul dismayed that no soft kiss or warm hug seemed to be forthcoming, 'Mama?'

Eventually, John dropped his arms with a little sniff. He had been having a perfectly awful evening trying to keep Sherlock quiet and entertained. His new friend, who had been quietly sitting on a box while peeking through the doorway, had suddenly started behaving in a bizarre manner. First, as he ran around the room at top speed, then yodeling at the top of his voice all the while encouraging John to climb up furniture to 'investigate the fine points of locomotion'.

Of course John was not aware that these were the side affects of too much sugar and caffeine, which certain people (who shall remain nameless) should not have greedily poured down their gullets into tiny stomachs, unaccustomed to such strong stimulants.

John, being a sensible lad, had naturally refused to join his new mate in his 'adventures'. Although he was glad that Sherlock was not crying anymore, he didn't _want_ to climb on to the top of the cupboard and jump off. It sounded like a pretty stupid thing to do, really. He had politely informed Sherlock that he would prefer to play with his soldiers, and had laid them on the floor for his examination; generously inviting the other boy to use his precious toys.

Sherlock had laughed, because they weren't mechanical or robotic in anyway like his toys at home. 'You can't even swap the arms and legs on these. How dull!'

Sherlock soon abandoned John's little play area and returned to his amateur mountaineer activities, where he enthusiastically climbed all the structures within the office. John turned his back and remained as deaf as a post to Sherlock's antics and invitations; his feelings a bit hurt that Sherlock had laughed at his toys.

'So, young man,' Mrs. Watson frowned darkly, so upset that she failed to observe that her son was wearing an outfit that didn't belong to him. 'How could you do this to my office? Do you have anything to say for yourself?'

John's eyes darted to the corner where Sherlock peeked out from around a grey file cabinet, with a look of desperation.

'No, mama,' he answered her softly.

His mother closed her eyes and breathed in deeply; very much wanting to tan John's little behind for such an uncharacteristic display of naughty behavior.

'I clean up,' John announced quickly; hoping to forestall any punishment like 'no cookies for a week' or the horrible prison sentence of 'go to your room; no cartoons.'

Hastily, the blonde hair boy dragged the trash basket forward, and started to dismantle Sherlock's art work. While he worked, he peeked at his mum's face, and from the look there, he was beginning to despair that his efforts would not be enough. Maybe he should offer to give up cookies.

Just then, his mom opened her eyes and there was such a sudden change in her expression, that John dropped the waste basket and dashed under the desk.

'John!' she cried, as she fell to her knees in dismay and looked under her table, where her precious baby boy was pressed into a dark corner, arms around his knees to present a small target.

'Don't spank me!' he started to cry as he curled up in a small ball of misery. 'I'm sorry! I'm sorry!'

The nurse felt like crying herself that her son appeared to be so afraid of her, but she put on a smile for his benefit. 'No one is getting spanked. I like this shirt you are wearing. You look all grown up! Is it Sherlock's?'

John silently stared at her, still unconvinced that there would be no punishment.

'Sweetheart, do you know where he is?' she wheedled persuasively as she held out both arms, 'I can take you both for some hot chocolate. Everyone's so worried about him.'

Sherlock's little eyebrows furrowed angrily; seeing through the transparent bribe to the truth beneath it. He didn't want to stay with the social worker and color! Color! He had never been more insulted in his life! He wanted to be near his mum, and his spirit was deeply grieved that John's mother was in on the conspiracy to keep him away from her room. However, Nurse Watson was so focused on her boy, she failed to notice the grey blue eyes that glittered at her malevolently from the gloom.

John wailed again when she crawled under the table trying to reach an arm or leg, 'Mama!'

Desperately, she began to sing one of her son's favorite songs, and clapped her hands together as they often did when they sang at home.

_'Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man'_

In the meantime, Sherlock had moved closer; ready to intervene if necessary. Sherlock was astounded that John had not ratted on him, not even in the face of his mum's awful fury. Only Mycroft had ever protected him like that. Why would John do something like this for him? Even though his heart was beating so fast with the consequence of discovery, Sherlock bravely stood his ground. He couldn't let John be punished, could he?

_'Bake me a cake as fast as you can'_

Who knew Mrs. Watson would be so upset about her office? Sherlock thought his decorations were a vast improvement to the drab decor.

_'Pat it, roll it and mark it with a "B"'_

John scrambled out with a big smile, completely distracted by her singing and wanting to join in the big finish, 'Put it in the oven for baby and me!'

For a moment, all was silent as John happily threw his arms around his mom's neck and held her close. Anxiously, Sherlock stared at these mushy proceedings, convinced now that John would deliver him on a silver platter to the enemy. He didn't blame John though. He felt the same way about his mum, and there was nothing in the world he would not do for her. For her sake alone, he tried to control his temper at school, even though being surrounded by idiots all day long was severely taxing to his nerves.

John's mom tucked her boy on to her lap where to his delight she bounced him up and down. 'You must never run away from me like that, John. No matter how mad I may be. Now, are you going to introduce me to your new friend?'

Sherlock took a deep breath and walked out with his head held high. The game was up, and he would _not_ be cornered and surrounded. He was a Holmes!

'Good day, Mrs. Watson,' he greeted her politely; rejoicing that his voice was only trembling a little, 'I am Sherlock. Is my mum better?'

Of course Nurse Watson could only be stunned by his abrupt appearance, and she stared at him in bemusement.

Unfortunately, Sherlock's dignified entrance was spoiled, as in a fit of nerves and sugary overindulgence, he suddenly emptied his stomach in a spectacular fashion all over himself.

'Wow!' John breathed out in typical boyish admiration at the disgusting mess. Sherlock gave him a weak smile in reply.


	4. Please stay

Chapter 4- **Please stay  
**

'Are you sick again, Sherlock?' John asked softly as he carefully climbed on top of a small box, up a chair, across a narrow ledge and then finally up to the big table where his friend sat.

Sherlock was staring straight head, grasping the white towel that Nurse Watson had wrapped around him after a good scrub in the nurses' shower. All the while Sherlock was getting his bath, John had sat close by, chatting happily about how smart Sherlock was, and about his calcium deficiency and Sherlock liking gymnastics and so forth. Now his mum had gone to find Sherlock's social worker, and the dark haired boy was frowning angrily into space.

Sherlock gathered up his cell phone, periodic table flash cards and his small wallet, and turned to John with a trembling sort of smile, 'Thank you for staying with me. I will have to go soon.'

'I will go with you!' John declared emphatically, as he hugged his friend loyally around his middle.

'No, you must stay here with your mum and look after my mum,' Sherlock requested as he lay his cheek on John's hair, 'you must not fail me, John.'

'Okay.'

'Here,' Sherlock said as he stuffed a twenty pound note in his hand, 'to buy more milk. Drink some everyday.'

'I will be as big as a building in no time at all,' John remarked enthusiastically, certain that he would be able to get loads of milk with the money, 'Cheers. Can't you stay?'

'I want to stay,' Sherlock sighed, as he looked around him sadly.'I wish My' was here. Mycroft would sort out that social worker something quick!'

'What's a Mycroft?'

'Mycroft is a who, not a what,' the other boy corrected wistfully, 'My big brother.'

John made a face. 'Is he nice? I've got a big sister and she's 'orrible. Yuck.'

Sherlock nodded his head before he realized that John couldn't see, because he had his face pressed against his chest again.'My brother is wonderful. He's smart and carries out the most marvelous experiments.'

From outside their room, angry voices approached which grew louder with every passing second, and Sherlock found himself clutching John's shoulders tightly. Meeting John had been the one bit of good that had happened today. When the social worker angrily slapped the door open, Sherlock couldn't help himself from jumping a little.

'You!' she hissed softly as she towered over the two boys.

Sherlock insolently looked up at her scowling face, 'yes, me.'

'Where have you been?!'

'Can I see my mother, please?'

'Do not ask questions!' the woman near shouted in frustration.

'Why not?' John asked, not at all feeling cowered by this rude woman in front of him, 'I would like to see Sherlock's mum too.'

John's mother gasped as she choked back a giggle. It was such a funny sight seeing the two small boys with identical scowls on their faces.

'And who are you, young man?' the worker snapped, rounding on the blonde hair boy with a suspicious look.

'He's no one,' Sherlock remarked as causally as he could, 'Go on now, boy. Go bother someone else.'

John gave him a stubborn look as Sherlock pushed him away, trying his best to protect John from the horrors of coloring shapes and numerals in silence.

'Go on now,' Sherlock insisted in whisper, as John staunchly refused to leave. 'What is wrong with you? Go, I say!'

Finally Nurse Watson stepped forward. She had been already been impressed by all John had said about his new friend, and didn't need to see much more. 'This is my son, John, who has grown quite attached to Sherlock, as you can see. I can look after Sherlock until his father comes.'

Sherlock gaped in shock as John whooped happily; almost piercing his eardrum with his excited shriek.

'Absolutely not!' the worker sneered, quenching the enthusiasm of the two boys with a stern look.

'What is wrong?' John's mother asked politely, trying to smooth things over.

'This one...' she remarked slowly pointing a finger at Sherlock, 'there's something not quite right with him. Just look at his eyes.'

'Didn't your mother ever teach you that pointing is rude?' Sherlock snapped in a way that took both the adults by surprise.

'You see!' the woman crowed triumphantly; as she peered down at Sherlock as though he was some strange curious anomaly.

'Nothing is wrong with Sherlock,' Nurse Watson retorted angrily, as she moved to place her body protectively in front the two boys. 'How dare you speak to him in that manner?! How can you be so insensitive?!'

'I tell you something is not right...'

The social worker broke off in a mid-tirade at the sharp look in Nurse Watson's eyes.

'Sherlock will stay with me,' the nurse announced firmly, 'and if there is a problem with that, you can take it up with my lawyer. I am not letting you take him anywhere!'

Two warm bodies pressed anxiously against Mrs. Watson back, as the social worker stared at her in some surprise.

'That's fine by me,' the other woman said with a shrug. 'I don't know why you would want to be burdened with that creature. Let me get some paper work out of my bag.'

When the other woman had walked away, Mrs Watson quickly whirled around and gently cupped Sherlock's thin pale face in both hands. Tears stood in Sherlock's eyes, and it was doubtful if the small boy could see her at all, as he looked up.

'You are a very brave boy Sherlock,' she whispered tenderly, 'very brave. So very brave. It's okay to cry, if you want.'

A small tear rolled down one cheek before he could stop it, 'I don't usually cry, just so you know.'

'I will remember that,' she replied as she sat and gathered up the two boys on her lap, 'I know you want to know about your mother. She's in surgery, Sherlock. They couldn't wait for your father to get here. It was an emergency.'

John looked across at Sherlock and took his hand; warming the suddenly ice cold appendage in both of his. John knew what the E-word meant, even if he couldn't pronounce it as yet.

'I cannot promise you she will be alright,'Nurse Watson continued softly, 'do you understand what I am saying to you? Are you alright? Do you want to lay down?'

Sherlock nodded and quickly she picked up both boys, and made them a small nest of clean blankets on a convenient cot in the corner.

'Alright there?' she asked them with a warm smile, as she checked to make sure all small fingers and toes were covered.

John nodded at her, as he wound his arms around his towel clad friend, 'Thanks mum. Say thank you, Sherlock.

'Thank you, Nurse Watson,' Sherlock in that odd somber way he had about him.

'And I will make sure your brother finds you as soon as he gets here,' she added as she shared out soft kisses, one to each little eager face that was turned in her direction, and an extra one all for their new friend, Sherlock.


	5. Mycroft

Chapter 5- **Mycroft**

With an air of determination, Mycroft hiked his school bag more securely over one shoulder and grasped his dad's hand with the other. 'Father, I will go with this nurse and see to Sherlock,' he said firmly in the face of his parent's apparent paralysis, 'you go and see mummy.'

His son's strong voice was enough to snap the man back into reality. Smiling down at his eldest, he leaned over and hugged him briefly; so proud and pleased that both his boys were being brave. It boggled his mind to think that just this morning, his darling wife had fussed over the amount of salt he was sprinkling over his eggs, and now here they were, standing in the hospital. 'This nurse said that your little brother was sick. Come get me if he is any worse.'

With a stoic nod to each other, the two parted to begin their respective journeys into different parts of the building.

Nurse Watson smiled, as the slightly chubby 13 year old offered her his arm in a courtly fashion, 'Madam?'

'Thank you,' she said softly, as they walked along, 'Sherlock isn't sick; just worried and over excited.'

Mycroft nodded. That sounded like Sherlock.

'My son is keeping him company,' she added as they stopped before a door, 'they maybe asleep.'

'Hardly likely,' Mycroft replied in a whisper just to humor her, all the while concerned that Sherlock was left alone with someone else's offspring. He hoped that Sherlock hadn't super glued the poor child's fingers together, or worse!

Together, he and the nurse cautiously peeked around the edge of the door.

Sherlock looked up and scowled, wondering what on earth this was about. With an imperious wave of his small hand, he beckoned his brother to stop being so foolish and come to him.

'Oh goodness, would you look at that?' Nurse Watson cooed and clapped her hands quietly together; completely entranced to witness her John curled up on Sherlock's lap, sleeping like a contented puppy. Quickly she whipped out her mobile to take a photo. As she took several shots, Sherlock obliged with a bright toothy grin, quite enjoying this unexpected burst of stardom.

In the meantime, Mycroft stood silently just out of camera range, deeply concerned at how his brother was holding this strange boy to his chest. Unlike Nurse Watson who happily snapped away with her mobile, the bigger boy felt a sensation of dread settle over his shoulders.

'Let me get you boys something to eat,' the kind woman suggested as she reluctantly left the room, after many loving backwards glances. 'Your brother will let you know the good news.'

Once she left, Sherlock recommenced his attempts to get the back of John's hair to lay flat.

'You can't keep him you know,' Mycroft blurted out suddenly, hoping to catch his brother off guard.

Sure enough, Sherlock pouted mutinously for a second, before the look passed.

'He can stay in my room,' the little boy said with a finality that indicated this was not up for discussion. 'How is mummy?'

Mycroft sighed as he put down his bag and knelt down besides his brother's cot, 'father is with her, she's out of surgery. You did well to call the ambulance; quite well! A ruptured appendix left untreated for so long could be fatal.'

'I was so...' Sherlock stammered out uncertainly looking up at him with big, scared eyes that seemed to fill his whole face, 'where were you?!'

Mycroft loosened the tiny fist that clutched at the edge of his sleeve, 'I'm here now and I won't leave you.'

Eventually, the two brothers redirected their eyes to the blonde haired boy who slept on peacefully, because excessive sentiment wasn't really their cup of tea.

Mycroft cleared his throat as he rearranged Sherlock's towel more securely around his thin body so he wouldn't catch cold. 'Is he a good sort? John, was it?'

'A little slow, but otherwise excellent company,'Sherlock piped up, 'John thinks I am smart.'

'Oh really?' Mycroft said sarcastically with an internal eye roll, 'well I am sure we can ask him to come visit. Would you like that?'

Sherlock gave him a dark look and held the boy in his arms even tighter.

'Sherl,' his brother said patiently, 'this isn't like when you found that salamander in the park. John would miss his mum, and she him.'

Sherlock ignored his brother as he preserved in his attempts to flatten out the boy's impossible hair.

'I think you need to let him go now,' Mycroft insisted in a soft way, as he held on to his brother's small wrists.

'Mick, no!' Sherlock protested in anguish as he tried to push his brother away,'he's mine! He likes me! He likes me! He really likes me!'

'Sherlock, stop this at once!' his brother hissed, refusing to let go, 'people don't own other people.'

'Yes they do!'

'Well in England they don't!'

John slowly opened his eyes with a mewl of protest, not liking all this vigorous pulling and tugging of his limbs when he was trying to nap, 'Mama?'

'Sherlock!'

'Mycroft!'

It all happened in a blink, but the solid crack of John's head hitting the wall, shocked them all into silence. The two brothers stared in horror as John scrunched up his face, no doubt because of the nasty sensations filtering uncomprehending through his brain and body.

Panicked, Mycroft covered the little boy's mouth with his hand, cutting out his inevitable wail for his mother.

'No, don't, it's going to be alright,' Sherlock pleaded, as John began to cry and struggle, 'Shhhh.'

Sherlock crawled around behind his new friend and massaged the spot tenderly.

'I'm sorry, John. I'm sorry,' Mycroft babbled incoherently, his usual calm demeanor deserting him, 'Sherlie, any b-l-o-o-d?'

Sherlock held up a clean hand, and the older boy slumped against the wall in relief.

'Thank you God,' he mumbled.

'You believe in God?' Sherlock asked curiously, 'When did that happen?'

The red headed boy raised his free hand to cut him off, 'Don't start with me right now, alright? I am not in the mood for your ridiculous, circular and pedantic arguments.'

Sherlock stared contemplatively at his brother's bowed head.

'Well this idiot is Mycroft, my big brother whom I told you about,' the little boy said as way of introduction to John. 'He's not normally such a clutz, please excuse him.'

Sherlock slapped his brother's hand away from John's mouth.

'There there,' Sherlock tutted consolingly as he picked up a corner of his towel/gown to wipe away John's tears, 'it will soon pass. Once, I tumbled down into a well and hurt my foot. It was horrible, but it got better.'

John sniffed, and blew his nose loudly on the edge of the towel. 'I have an owie.'

'Yes, a big owie indeed,' Sherlock agreed solemnly as he parted John's hair for a better look; angling it expertly towards the light to see. 'Mycroft, don't just sit there! Do something useful and go get John some ice.'

Mycroft frowned as he climbed to his feet. Sherlock was developing a bad habit of ordering around people, but since ice was a sensible suggestion, he would let it pass this time.


	6. Never ever

Chapter 6- **Never ever**

After Sherlock had satisfied himself on the placement of the rag of ice, he looked across the room at where his brother sat on a chair; overseeing the impromptu medical proceedings.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow as his little brother glided in his direction; his borrowed towel trailing on the ground behind him as if he was royalty. Soon, Sherlock stood between his legs and rested his small hand on his knee.

'How is your friend?' Mycroft inquired, 'is he in pain?'

The two brothers turned to study the little sandy haired boy, who sat in front of a mirror with an absorbed look on his face.

'I have never seen anyone so thrilled to have an injury before,' Sherlock responded with a confused air.

John took off his ice pack, and stared at it in fascination.

'Put the rag back on your head, John,' Mycroft repeated patiently for what seemed like the hundredth time. Obediently, John did as he asked, and the bigger boy nodded at him. 'That's it. Quite good.'

In the meantime, Sherlock's tiny shoulders began to droop and he sniffled pathetically.

Mycroft sighed softly,'Sherl, we can't hide this from John's mum. Head injuries are dangerous. She should be told.'

'I know,' his little brother said in a whisper, 'and I think she would notice the lump on his head.'

'You don't have to be so sad,' Mycroft then insisted, 'father and I will speak to her and tell her it was an accident. She might be upset, but just for awhile.'

Sherlock shrugged, and sighed again as if this was the end of the world, and he and John would be separated for all time.

It pained his heart to see his little brother like this. For all his oddities, Sherlock was a quiet, contented child. Mature for his age than most, he made do with all of Mycroft's old toys and books. The few times Sherlock ever asked for anything, there was a general stampede among the rest of the family as well as the house servants, to be the one to fulfill the request. Right now, there was a craving for jig saw puzzles, and Mycroft had been diligently saving his pocket money to get him a thousand piece set, with the realistic looking pirate ships in it. He could just imagine how Sherlock's eyes would light up like stars, when he saw the lid of the puzzle box. Today though, there was an unreasonable part of Mycroft's mind, that wished he could just buy John off the shelf as easily as the _Pirate's of the Caribbean puzzle set_- guaranteed fun for the entire family.

'Are you crying?'

Sherlock ducked his head and shook his head so hard, that his wavy curls whipped about his face. Mycroft decided on a different tact.

'Father and I _will_ speak to Mrs. Watson,' he again insisted, 'my worry now, is that you will forget all about your old playmate, that would be me, and ride off in the sunset with your new partner in crime.'

Dramatically, Mycroft clapped his hand over his chest as if he was mortally wounded, 'Yes, I see it now as clear as day. I will be cast off into the rubbish bin, like a broken old toy that is no longer useful. Oh why, must it come to this? Why?!'

Sherlock giggled gleefully at his brother's stupid antics. 'That would never happen.'

'Words,' Mycroft hissed at him with an ugly scowl, 'empty words!'

His little brother grinned up at him and crawled up into his lap, curling his arms softly around his neck. 'I could never love anyone more than I love you. Silly Mycroft!'

Surprised but very pleased at this atypical display of emotion, Mycroft wrapped his brother up tightly in his arms; nuzzling the baby soft curls at the base of Sherlock's neck, 'Never?'

'Never ever!' Sherlock promised in a high voice and with another giggle, as Mycroft kissed him with a loud smacking noise against his cheek. 'Ewwwwwwww! Stop that!'

Eventually, Sherlock leaned back in his arms to stare at him, with an expression much too solemn for such a small boy. 'Are you sure you are, alright?'

'I am,' Mycroft smiled fondly, realising that not only had Sherlock seen through his ruse to distract him, but was concerned that Mycroft actually was upset that he liked someone other than him. His brother's quick mind was such a wonder, that it took his breath away at times.

'Good!' Sherlock giggled again, as he reached over and smacked Mycroft hard on the forehead with the palm of his hand, 'TAG! YOUR IT!'

Stunned, Mycroft lost his grip on the squirming bundle, and before he realised it, he was left with just the towel in his hands.


	7. catch me if you can

Chapter 7-** Catch me if you can**

Quickly regaining his wits, Mycroft jumped to his feet and flapped the towel frantically in his brother's direction, 'Sherlock, come back here at once! It is much too cold to be dashing about like this.'

Sherlock gave him a wicked grin and continued running around, wearing nothing but the soft bouncy curls on the top of his head, and the dark blue socks on his feet. 'Catch me if you can! John, come here!'

John looked up quickly at the sound of his name and blinked at the sight before him. Concluding this was some sort of variation of the game of tag, he put his rag of ice on the floor next to him, 'Can I play?'

'Yes, come along, John,' Sherlock squeaked in delight as he dodged his brother's long arms,'Help me distract him!'

'Sherlock,' Mycroft begged as he made another ineffective lunge for the small boy, 'dearest, it's too cold. Please come to me.'

Sherlock giggled mischievously, 'NO!'

In the meantime, John hurriedly removed his sandals and put them neatly to one side. Then, he stood up to pull off his shorts and underpants, which he also neatly folded and placed on top of his shoes. The shirt Sherlock had given him however, was proving to be a problem and he tugged fretfully at the buttons, wondering why they had to be small. He could handle buttons, but not these tiny things!

'Sherlock,' he called out,' I need help.'

Worried, Mycroft turned around quickly to see what was the matter and his jaw dropped opened in shock, as though he had been hit by a frying pan in the face.

'JOHN!' he cried out in a scandalized voice of outrage, 'What are you doing?! Put back on your trousers immediately!'

The poor beleaguered teenager moved forward to try and catch his brother's friend, before things could get more out of hand than they were already. What would Nurse Watson say if she came now?!

'RUN! RUN, JOHN!' Sherlock screamed at the top of his lungs like a hooligan, 'the Kraken is coming for you! RUN!

Naturally at such an awful sounding announcement, John darted off quick as a blink, leaving Mycroft with nothing but air between his outstretched fingers.

Mycroft sighed as he put his hands on his hips; for the moment accepting defeat as the two imps of Satan widened their running area by crawling under the furniture. Although he was irritated by this turn of events , he found it encouraging how well John and his little brother seemed to get along. To be frank, Sherlock had an edge to his tongue that was enough to send other children running to the hills, but not John. He didn't seemed to mind at all, once something fun was going on.

As the two boys continued running around him in circles screaming in youthful delight, Mycroft quickly reviewed his options. His mind soon crystallized a plan based on one, how protective Sherlock was of his new friend, and two, how John seemed more interested in running around hollering like a lunatic than anything else.

Sherlock saw the change in his brother's stride before John did.

The small boy almost slipped trying to stop but just managed it, before diving for cover behind a convenient box. John however, was calmly plucked out of the air while he was in mid stride. Gently, Mycroft tucked him under one arm, and the sandy haired boy turned to him with a gracious grin; not at all put out that he had been caught by the Kraken monster.

'Come out now!' Mycroft sang, 'and I will give him back.'

'Save yourself, Sherlock!' John shrieked, 'he's a Kraken!'

The bigger boy turned John to him with a curious air, 'do you even know what a Kraken is?'

John shrugged, 'Nope. But it sounds awful and you're it!'

'Parley!' a voice came from behind the fortress of boxes, interrupting their discussion.

Mycroft frowned, as he couldn't immediately place the word. John tugged on his sleeve and he bent over so the little boy could whisper an explanation into his ear.

Ahh...parley, he remembered now; a discussion or conference, especially one between enemies over terms of a truce or other matters.

He should have picked up on the nautical reference, the moment Sherlock named him after the mythical beast of the ocean. Along with jigsaw puzzles, Sherlock had a new obsession for pirate themed games.

'Very well,' Mycroft said in mock politeness, 'Parley.'

Cautiously Sherlock approached, sensing something a bit off but willing to risk it to save John.

'What are your terms, Kraken?!' Sherlock piped up as he crossed his arms across his bare chest, 'And, I warn you not a hair on his head should be out of place or the consequences might be too dire for even you to face.'

Mycroft cocked a jaunty eyebrow at the threat as John giggled admiringly at Sherlock's speech. 'Oh, I disagree, my short statured foe. It might be you that will not be able to face the consequences.'

'Perhaps,' Sherlock remarked confidently,'but not very likely. Terms!'

'My terms are your unconditional surrender where you both put back on some sort of clothes.'

'NEVER!' the two boys shouted in indignant unison at such a poor attempt at parley. But the distraction of the moment was enough for Mycroft, and Sherlock was immediately swept up under his big brother's other arm.

'Now, I have you!' Mycroft thundered playfully giving the two boys a squeeze as they wriggled around, squealing like two pink piglets on their way to the market. 'And as soon as I find some mayonnaise, I, the mighty Kraken, will eat you both.'

'Before that happens,' Mrs. Watson chimed in unexpectedly, having been standing in the doorway for a few moments with a plate, 'let's try these sandwiches.'

With a start, Mycroft turned to her with a guilty look. 'I can explain. I really can.'

'Peanut butter and jam, mommy?' John asked hopefully.

'Goodness no,' Sherlock exclaimed, 'I want chicken salad.'

'No one is getting anything until I see clean hands,' she announced, holding the plate out of sight of the two hungry pirates. If Nurse Watson was upset that one half dressed and one naked little boy were running around her office, playing tag, she wasn't showing it. With a grateful sigh, the teenager put down his two energetic bundles who promptly dashed over to a sink to scrub their hands. Mycroft glowered in annoyance at this sudden show of obedience.

After they had finished washing up, Mrs. Watson calmly picked up John's trousers and held it open for him as he nimbly put in one leg and then the other, while balancing his weight on her arms. He was rewarded with a smile and a soft kiss, as he pulled up his pants and buckled the fasten. Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise, when the dear lady then turned in his direction to offer him a clean smock from the laundry.

'Thank you,' he mumbled in awe as he fingered the embroidered words that spelled out the word lab technician; sewn over the breast pocket.

'Look, Mycroft!' he cried out excitedly, holding it up for his brother to see, 'I am a scientist!'

'Very good, Sherlock,' the bigger boy remarked dryly, 'I would much rather you put it on now instead of staring at it.'


	8. A proper goodbye

**Anote**: I have to say I got a bit teary trying to write this.

Chapter 8- **A proper ****goodbye**

Mycroft scowled heavily. 'Father, are you listening to me at all?'

'Sorry, son,' the older man apologized with a teasing smile, 'I am afraid I didn't hear much, after you said Sherlie had found a friend.'

His son frowned up at him; not appreciating his look of amusement but Mr. Holmes couldn't help himself. Nothing could penetrate his happy bubble where his wife was on the mend, and he hadn't been left with a broken family, whose heart had been ripped out.

'So you were saying that this John, bumped his head by accident?' he summarised, just to prove that he was just pulling his son's leg, 'and then what?'

'And then his mother got mad, and she took him away,' Mycroft hedged carefully; not wanting his father to ask too many questions. The boy had found that parents as a whole, usually stuck together at the most inconvenient times.

'We should make an inquiry about John before we leave,' his father remarked much to Mycroft's relief.

The red head spun around and gave Sherlock, who was peeking out at him from the back of their town car, a hopeful smile. Sherlock waved in understanding.

'Can you ask her if we can have John for tonight?'

Both of Mr. Holmes' eyebrows rose in astonishment, 'You've certainly taking a liking to him, very quickly. Is he a good sort, you think?'

Mycroft put his hands behind his back as he began to pace the reception area, 'Yes, father. He is sturdy both in mind and body; qualities I think Sherlock needs in a companion.'

Mr. Holmes' nodded; trusting his son's insight. Mycroft had been a vigilant guardian over his little brother ever since he was born, almost to a fault at times. This John must a be an extraordinary boy indeed! 'I see. Well I look forward to meeting the young man. We should arrange a visit.'

The teenager whirled around quickly to face him. 'No! What I mean is yes, but can't we arrange it for tonight? Mummy already will not be coming home for awhile and he would be good company for us. Sherlock has asked me to specifically convey this request to Mrs. Watson on his behalf.'

His father hesitated. No parent liked denying their children's requests, and Mr. Holmes took a peculiar pleasure in granting Sherlock's wishes as the small boy hardly ever asked for anything.

'Son, this is impossible,' he began solemnly with a small sigh,'You are thirteen, but your mother and I would not let you overnight in a home or place that we have not inspected. I would be very surprised if Mrs. Watson would agree to let us take her boy for the night.'

As Mr. Holmes was explaining this to his eldest, he noticed a nurse whom he assumed was Mrs Watson herself, approaching from behind Mycroft.

'But you will ask?!' his son persisted, latching on tenaciously to this part.

'Mycroft?' Nurse Watson called softly, as she hefted John more securely in her arms.

Quickly, he turned around and smiled up at mother and son.

'Alright there, John?' he asked, as he clutched at the boy's ankle.

The sandy hair boy nodded excitedly, 'I had an x-ray in a big tube! Look at the picture of my head! Isn't it amazing?! Where's Sherlock?'

'All clear,' his mother clarified to their concerned audience, as John proudly showed them all his first ever x-ray.

'Where's Sherlock?' John asked again as he scanned the room; confused by his absence, 'I saved my lollipop for him.'

'He's just outside!' Mycroft answered as he held up both arms to collect John, 'here, let me take you.'

His heart started to beat uncomfortably fast, as Mrs. Watson stepped back.

'Mama, I want to go play,' John protested in a fretfully voice, wriggling around trying to get down. He had just noticed Sherlock outside in the car, and was of course wondering where he was going. On seeing John looking in his direction, Sherlock stood up in the back seat and waved his arm so hard; it was a wonder he didn't fall over.

'Hush, John,' Mrs. Watson said softly, 'Maybe tomorrow.'

Mycroft was starting to panic now because of her rather vague reply, 'Nurse, we ...that is to say my brother and I, were counting on the pleasure of having John's company tonight.'

She shook her head and reached out to place a comforting hand on the teenager's shoulder, 'John's too little to stay overnight without me. I'm sorry.'

'You can come too!' Mycroft clarified, 'we could have a jolly time together!'

'YAY!' John cried and clapped his hands, 'Mummy, yes!'

'John, I have to work,' she tried to explain.

'How about we leave the car here?' Mycroft jumped in before his father could say anything, 'and when you get off work, our driver will bring you to us.'

'Mycroft, that's enough!' his father said sternly, a bit appalled at his son's mild, but quite noticeable belligerent tone of voice. 'Mrs. Watson, please take my card. We would love to hear from you at your earliest convenience.'

'Mommy, you always have to work,' John whined with a frown, as his mom accepted the card and a father's unspoken apology on behalf of his son. 'Can't we have a holiday?'

'And what about your sister?' the woman tried to reason with her youngest.

'I don't want her to come!' her son yelled out angrily as he began to cry, 'I hate her! She's so mean! I want Sherlock!'

'Oh dearest, don't say that,' Nurse Watson said in a sad voice as she scratched his tummy. She knew that the two squabbled and she was at her wits end, trying to get them to behave more civilly to each other. 'You don't hate your sister.'

'I DO HATE HER! ' John screamed at the top of his voice, upset that he was being forced to choose Harriet over his new friend. 'I HATE HER! I HATE HER!'

His mother was so shocked by his passionate outburst, that she lost her grip. Naturally, John took the opportunity to slither to the ground. As quick as a rabbit he scurried away to the glass wall that framed the reception area, and pressed his small palms against the surface.

Then, to the stunned horror of their family driver, Sherlock unexpectedly jumped into the front seat, opened the passenger car door, and tumbled out into the hospital driveway with a soft thud. Still dressed only in his lab coat smock that John's mother had given him, the small boy picked himself up and quickly trotted between some decorative plants, a few amused orderlies who were on a cigarette break, and then up to the glass wall where John stood.

John gave him a watery sort of smile and waved the lollipop at him. Sherlock jabbered excitedly in reply, but the glass was much too thick for either of them to hear. The two boys soon realized this and fell quiet, solemnly staring at each other.

The pathetic sight was enough to melt even the hardest of hearts.

In the meantime, Mr. Holmes had wrapped a supportive arm around Mycroft's shoulders, while Mrs. Watson, quite distressed by her son's unexpected confession, pressed a trembling hand against her mouth.

'At least let them have a proper goodbye, 'Mycroft suggested softly, as he looked between the two adults. 'Don't let it end this way.'


	9. Little master

**Anote:** My apologies, I seemed to have traumatized some people with my last chapter. Happy times ahead for our favourite dynamic duo.

Chapter 9- **Little master  
**

John jumped in fright, which was of course understandable if you were sound asleep and then you woke up with your new playmate leaning over you, examining your face through a shiny magnifying glass.

'What are you doing?' John whispered into the gloom of Sherlock's bedroom, which was just beginning to brighten as the sunlight peeked under the heavy curtains.

'I am trying to see your skull like in the special picture,' Sherlock remarked solemnly, as he parted John's hair. 'Don't move.'

Sherlock had been just as fascinated by the boy's x-ray as John was, and had dearly wanted a picture of his head too. John had offered to take him back to the "big tube", but Sherlock clutched at his hand hard and shook his head; fearful that something would happen and they would be separated again.

He was glad that John didn't laugh at him.

The little sandy haired boy had again seemed to intuitively understand what he couldn't put in words, as he softly patted his fist, and nodded his head.

Finally accepting that his magnifying glass couldn't see inside John's head as good as the x-ray machine, Sherlock handed over the tool and John eagerly put it to his eye. John was startled again, as Sherlock's left nostril jumped out at him unexpectedly, and he promptly dropped the glass.

'Sorry! he squeaked, while scrambling down the bed to retrieve it. It was cold in Sherlock's large room, and John climbed back under the covers quickly and hugged his friend to get warm again. 'Did you sleep, at all? There really weren't any monsters under your bed, you know. Your dad checked twice for us.'

Sherlock lied and nodded his head. He didn't want to tell John that the sound of Mrs. Watson quietly sobbing herself to sleep on a nearby sofa bed, had kept him awake. It seemed like the sort of the thing that would upset John, because it would certainly upset him if it was his mom!

John giggled happily; oblivious to all the drama that was presently going in his family, as he burrowed down deeply into the super comfortable mattress; feeling as snug as a bug in a rug! He couldn't believe how happy he was right now. His mother had unexpectedly declared that yes, he didn't have to see his awful big sister for a whole week if he didn't want to and yes, they could have a nice holiday with Sherlock, if he still wanted.

It was almost too much happiness to bear and he was so looking forward to exploring the huge house which he had excitedly glimpsed the night before, as they drove in the Holmes' luxurious town car, up a long avenue of trees.

They were going to have so much fun, just the two of them! He was sure of it!

With a giant yawn of contentment, John hugged Sherlock around his neck and promptly fell back to sleep. After a few seconds of staring up at the ceiling, Sherlock gave his friend an awkward pat on the back, not truly appreciating being John's life sized teddy bear; but it was nice in a strange way, and he was warm and it was...it was...

...Sherlock's tiny jaws cracked open in a huge yawn too, and winding his arms across John's shoulders, he lay his cheek against the boy's soft hair before finally drifting off into a deep, heavy sleep.

* * *

Sherlock was abruptly awakened by an insistent tugging on his arm.

With a frown he slowly slid open one eye, and smiled down at John who was standing by the bed, with his hair sticking up comically in the back. The morning was well advanced judging from the light through the window.

'Halo, John!' he cried excitedly; relieved that his new friend hadn't been a wonderful dream. 'You need a comb.'

'I need the bathroom,' John whispered fretfully, and gave an impatient hop to emphasize his dire need. Sherlock nodded and taking the boy's hand, he quickly slipped from between the sheets.

Being two good little boys at heart, they tip-toed across the room not wanting to wake Nurse Watson, who was still sleeping the deep sleep of the exhausted and deserving.

When they entered the bath, John looked up in awe at the highly decorated ceiling above him; wondering anew why Sherlock and his family were living in a museum.

As a good host, Sherlock patiently waited for him to finish use the toilet before showing John where he could wash his hands, and offering him a choice of soaps. John scratched his head in confusion, and finally just pointed at the red soap bottle, because it was pretty. Graciously, Sherlock then allowed his honored guest to use his toothbrush first, before he brushed his own teeth.

A quick face wash and a comb through their hair, and the two of them were all ready for a new adventure.

Hooray!

If the morning maids were amused at the sight of two bare footed boys wearing identical pajamas trotting down the corridor, each carrying one corner of the precious x-ray photograph, they didn't show it until they had gone by.

Soon, the two had reached a huge room that John recognized as a kitchen, but just barely. It was nothing like their kitchen at home which was all warm and bright with steam and nice smells.

Like every part of the house he had seen so far, this room was huge, and towering all about John now were tall foreboding stainless steel appliances and pans hanging from the ceiling like some bizarre forest of metal. Feeling quite small and a little scared, John stuck close to Sherlock, as the little boy confidently navigated the room; guiding them to brightly lit corner. With a curious look, John peeped over Sherlock's shoulder as the boy opened a small refrigerator he hadn't noticed; tucked neatly below a counter.

John's eyes widened in sudden delight, because the small fridge was a virtual treasure trove; packed with all the sorts of things that were a delight to every boyish soul!

In the fridge door, there were cartons of fresh milk and bottles of juices that were just of the right size to fit into small hands. On the bottom shelf, there were newly washed berries of every color in little bowls, mixed in with fruits already cut up into manageable bite sized pieces. On the top shelf, were huge colorful lollies, ice cream cups and jellies, small boxes of chocolate and beautifully decorated miniature cup cakes with sprinkles, and wait...oh yes...small pots of strawberry jam and peanut butter, John's absolute favorite!

Sherlock took out two cartons of milk, a cup cake each (because it was a special occasion) and loaded it all into John's willing arms. Together, they took all their bundles into one of the smaller dining rooms.

John, feeling less scared now that he was sitting up at the table with Sherlock at his right, his x-ray to the left and a yummy cupcake already in his belly, even managed to smile at the strange man who approached in a large, funny white hat.

'Eggs, Master Sherlock?' the man asked as he set out some kid sized knives and forks before them.

The curly haired boy nodded, 'with some mushrooms in a crepe, if you please.'

'Excellent choice,' the cook complimented him, before he turned to John, 'and for your petite friend?'

'John, tell him what you want,' Sherlock had to prod his breakfast companion, as the man's French sailed right over the boy's head.

'Peanut butter and jam?' John piped up with an eager, hopeful smile.

The magnificent mustaches of the award winning French cook wilted a bit in disappointment, but he bowed respectfully before turning to light up his best stove; determined to produce the best peanut butter and jam sandwich for the little master's guest.


End file.
